Skin Deep td-49

by Warren Murphy

  "Like what?"

  Wolfe stared into a corner of the ceiling. "Unfortunately," he said, "the average human organism is unable to withstand the drugs themselves."

  "You mean those guys we just saw... "

  "The old man will die within the hour," Wolfe said.

  "Hmmm," Remo said, entranced by the red ball in front of him. "Hey, why are you telling me this stuff, anyway?"

  Wolfe leaned forward earnestly in his chair. "I want you to trust me," he said. "So I begin by trusting you."

  "Makes sense, I guess," Remo said dreamily.

  "Tea?" He offered a cup to Remo.

  He waved it away. "Might poison me," He said, smacking his lips sleepily. "Not that I don't trust you, understand."

  Wolfe laughed. "As you wish." He set the cup down. "But I would not poison you."

  "Why not?"

  "The doctor needs you. As I said, the old leper will die soon. Caan, who is stronger, will live considerably longer. Several days, perhaps."

  "Just long enough to blow up New York City," Remo said, not particularly concerned about New York City, or the summit meeting, or the lives of the two heads of state that were about to be snuffed out. "That's the biz," he said.

  "Indeed it is," Wolfe agreed. "You see that the effects of the drugs are dependent on the physical stamina of the user. Also, to some extent, on one's mental stability."

  He sipped his tea gracefully. "The drugs sometimes trigger unusual mental fixations," he said off-handedly. "The old man's penchant for pushups, for example. We showed him how to perform one, and he's been at it for two days." He laughed heartily.

  "What about Caan?" Remo asked.

  "We were careful to fixate him on his mission. Nothing else is in his mind."

  "How do you know?"

  "Tests."

  "Oh." Remo nodded, trying to look as if he weren't falling asleep. "What if he thinks about something else?"

  Wolfe shrugged. "It would be disastrous for his concentration, I suppose. But that is hypothetical. He is interested in nothing besides his mission."

  "Nothing?"

  Wolfe shrugged. "On rare occasions he talks in his sleep. Speaks in German, of all things."

  "What's he say?"

  "Nothing important. He calls for his grandmother. He repeats schoolbook German phrases. Has a terrible accent." His eyes sparkled with amusement.

  Remo tried to shake away the sleep that was falling on him like a blanket. Why would Caan speak German in his sleep?

  "Give me an example."

  "Of what? His German?"

  "What he talks about."

  Wolfe pursed his lips, thinking. "Quite uninteresting things, really. Thank you for your hospitality; where is the bathroom... things like that." He snapped his fingers. "Oh, yes. He also uses a phrase of Dr. Lustbaden's from time to time. Nie wieder. It means—"

  "I know what it means. He used it with Ana. It's some kind of hypnotic trigger word."

  Wolfe raised his eyebrows. "How very observant," he said. He picked up the red glass ball and held it close to Remo's face.

  Remo blinked twice, very slowly. "You're trying to hypnotize me, too, aren't you? I ought to warn you. I can't be drugged, and I can't be hypnotized."

  "Of course you can't," Wolfe said. "Just relax."

  The red ball seemed to grow before Remo's eyes, expanding to fill the room, the universe. "But Caan..."

  "Don't concern yourself with Caan," Wolfe said quietly. "It is an ordinary thing. And it only happens in his sleep."

  Remo sighed. "Okay," he said groggily.

  Only in his sleep.

  "So what about me?" he asked, feeling his eyes glaze over.

  Wolfe smiled. "The doctor and I feel that your physical and mental control are so highly evolved that you could shift your concentration at will. The old man is good only for pushups. Caan, who is stronger, has been prepared for his mission. But you, Remo." He stretched out his arms. "With the doctor's help, you will be able to do anything."

  "No kidding," Remo said.

  Amost imperceptibly, Wolfe moved the sparkling red glass ball closer to Remo.

  "If the doctor can use you for his studies, it will further the cause of mankind by a thousand years. He will create with you a true Ubermensch, a superman whose seed will spawn a new generation of superior beings."

  Remo grinned.

  "So you see, we will make every effort to keep you alive, both now and later— after the incident in New York."

  "Caan's going to blow up the summit meeting," Remo said, confused. He knew it was important to remember that the president and the Soviet premier were going to be murdered by Kamikaze attack. But he couldn't for the life of him figure out why.

  "It will be a great beginning," Wolfe said. "The birth of the Fourth Reich."

  "Is that like the Fourth of July?" Remo asked.

  "Rather. Would you like to lie down?"

  "Sleepy," Remo said.

  "You'll find the sofa quite comfortable." He helped Remo up and directed him to a long velvet settee with a head cushion. He placed the red ball next to Remo's face. "How is that?"

  Remo stared, smiling and transfixed, at the whirling lights in the ball. "Great," he said.

  Almost as if it came in a dream, Remo heard footsteps entering the room and another voice speaking quietly.

  "He is under control?" The voice asked.

  "Perfectly, Herr Doktor."

  "Well done, Wilhelm," Lustbaden said.

  "He is an impossible subject," Wolfe said. "If it had not been for those time-released drugs you injected into his body earlier, he would not have..."

  "I know," said Lustbaden. "That is why I injected them into his blood. Now we must simply keep him continuously drugged."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Our plan was good before," Lustbaden said. "Now it is perfect."

  "As we expect of you, Herr Doktor," Wolfe said.

  "First we destroy the summit conference and the rulers of America and Russia. And then we trot out this man as a secret weapon for a secret American agency and blame the disaster on him. Russia and America will be at war in hours. They will be destroyed in days."

  "Brilliant, Doktor," said Wolfe.

  "Of course," Lustbaden said.

  Remo heard footsteps cross the room. He saw two white legs beneath a lab coat in front of him, and he followed them upward, past the portly belly to the pink face framed with white hair, the cold blue eyes watching him behind the gold-rimmed spectacles, the lips curved absently in a half-moon. "You are well, Mr. Williams?" Lustbaden asked.

  "Okey dokey," Remo said.

  "Good. Enjoy your rest. I will be with you shortly."

  "Always got to wait in doctors' offices," Remo said. His eyelids felt like lead.

  Lustbaden turned to Wolfe. "You will remain here. I must attend to the business at hand. Your men will come with me."

  Wolfe saluted. The doctor left the room, his heels clicking sharply ahead of the heavy thud of marching footfalls as he headed down the corridor.

  "One thing," Remo said groggily.

  "Yes?"

  "Where's Chiun? And Smith? They really escape?"

  Wolfe hesitated. "For now," he said.

  "Good." Remo smiled and settled into his pillow.

  "But we've destroyed their boat," Wolfe explained. "We'll find them as soon as the launch is completed."

  "Launch?"

  "Lieutenant Caan is leaving on his mission now."

  Remo frowned. "Mission? Oh," he said, deciding he was too tired to ask about it. "You bring Chiun and Smith here," he added. "We'll all spread our seed around the Fourth of July."

  "Oh, they're both too old," Wolfe said, laughing at the outrageousness of the suggestion. "Why, one of them is not even white."

  "No Chiun?" His eyes opened wide.

  "Shhh. Sleep, Remo."

  "Can't sleep. Tricked me. Going to kill Chiun."

  "Sleep, Remo."

  And against his will he slept,
all of him except for a small spark deep within him. That small part of him, unmeasurable and inviolate, waited for a special call beyond time and space.

  It waited for the Master of Sinanju.

  ?Chapter Eighteen

  "Heil Hitler!"

  Richard Caan snapped to attention at the words, shooting his right arm out in salute.

  Lustbaden circled him slowly, nodding with approval at Caan's crisp attire, his ramrod stance, his clear, blank eyes. "Do you understand your mission?" he barked.

  "Yes, Herr Doktor."

  "And you are prepared to carry it out to the letter?"

  "Yes, Herr Doktor."

  "The maps? Have you everything you need?"

  "Everything, Herr Doktor."

  "Any questions?"

  "No, Herr Doktor."

  Lustbaden smiled, the half-moon lips quivering with excitement. "Then we shall begin," he said with an air of triumphant finality. "Collect your materials. The F-24 is on the runway. You will have to warm up the engine."

  Caan went to his desk, where his maps and navigational guides were stacked. He leafed through them to double-check. He was a machine now, the perfect instrument for his mission. He no longer resisted Lustbaden, and was no longer punished. His health had returned within a matter of hours, thanks to the doctor's miraculous injections. All the suffering in that small room, strapped to a bed that allowed him no sleep, with the constant din of the projector in his ears— all of the discomfort, torture, and unspeakable pain were for nothing. He had changed it all just by saying yes.

  By going along.

  He walked to the bedroom, where his flight bag waited, already packed, on the freshly made bed. He picked up the bag, set it down again, and then followed a strange impulse to lift the pillow on the bed to his face.

  It crackled with new feathers. The linen was stiff and blue-white, like the pillowcases in his grandmother's house in Brooklyn, scented with strong soap and the outdoor air where she hung her wash on a line.

  Why would he think of Brooklyn at a time like this, he wondered. Why remember the family dinners of brisket, when his grandmother would bring out the aromatic platter, her face flushed, and set it on her crocheted tablecloth?

  He shook the thoughts away and threw down the pillow.

  The lace of the tablecloth was starched stiff. His grandmother sat in a rocking chair, even at dinner.

  He picked up the flight bag and went back to Lustbaden. Without a word, the doctor opened the door, and they walked into the long corridor.

  On the third day of Chanukah, when Richard was twelve years old, his grandmother had given him a silver Star of David on a chain. It had been just the two of them, sitting in Nana's darkened living room in front of her gas-fueled fireplace, so Nana had decided to teach him German. It was a hopeless experiment. Caan had never possessed a gift for languages. Still, he remembered the scene as vividly as if it had happened that very morning: little Richard, his hair combed back with water, sitting at his grandmother's feet, the silver Star of David sparkling in his hand. And Nana, her white hair glowing like a halo as she rocked back and forth, back and forth, repeating words in a strange, harsh language.

  He didn't remember the words. All he recalled was the movement of her lips as she rocked, speaking in German, the words, the words...

  What words?

  "Is something the matter?" Lustbaden asked over his shoulder. He was standing several feet in front of Caan in the Great Hall. Caan realized with a start that he had stopped walking altogether.

  He felt himself blushing from shame. "No, Herr Doktor."

  "Move quickly, then. There is much to do."

  "Yes, sir."

  Two guards met them at the entrance to the cave and escorted them outside. Farther down the airstrip, gathered around the F-24, Lustbaden's full contingent of SPIDER corps soldiers stood at attention.

  The lepers were milling around in their village, buzzing in a state of high excitement. Several of them were clustered around Ana's hut, where the chief stood at attention, making discouraging gestures at curious villagers who tried to peek inside the doorway.

  Lustbaden looked over the tableau, his eyes narrowing. "Just a moment," he said, leaving Caan on the airstrip with the two guards as he hurried toward the commotion.

  The lepers scattered when he approached the hut— all except for Ana, who sat motionless on the ground, and Timu. The chief stood tall and straight, his muscles taut, the veins in his neck throbbing, his nostrils flaring with suppressed fear.

  "What are you hiding?" Lustbaden demanded abruptly.

  Some of the lepers scurried into their homes. Others backed away, whispering among themselves. Lustbaden heard the word Zoran several times, spoken with the awe one attributes to a deity.

  Timu crossed his arms silently over his chest and spread his feet to cover the entrance like some terrifying colossus.

  "Move aside," Lustbaden said, and shoved Timu with all his strength. The chief didn't budge.

  Lustbaden stepped back a pace, his anger evident. A hushed silence fell over the villagers. The doctor recognized his advantage at once.

  "I am Zoran who speaks," he intoned so that all the village could hear. "I command you to let me enter."

  Timu turned slowly to face him. "I have made my pact with one greater than you," he said. "You may not enter."

  At that, the village seemed to burst with uncontrollable excitement. Even Ana looked up, nonplused by her brother's blasphemy. "Timu," she said softly, her voice a warning.

  "Begone, Zoran," the chief said. He turned away from the doctor, his face as implacable as a stone carving.

  "You filthy leper," Lustbaden spat. "You disgusting, subhuman vermin. How dare you speak to me with such insolence!" He drew back his hand and slapped Timu across the face.

  The chief moved with the blow. He righted himself. Then, facing Lustbaden, he shoved the doctor with both hands into the dirt.

  The villagers gasped. Women cried out. Ana skittered to her feet, her face a mask of terror. Lustbaden rolled to a sitting position, not bothering to wipe the dust from his face and white coat. His eyes were metallic, sparkling with hate. The half-moon smile was turned downward in a sneer of raw ugliness.

  "Kill him," he hissed.

  The SPIDER corps was already running toward the village. The two guards with Caan were closer, already kneeling, cocking their pistols. Caan stood beside them, watching.

  Lustbaden screamed the command. "Kill him!"

  Two bullets fired. Two wounds burst upon Timu's chest like bright blossoms. The chief staggered and fell.

  "Timu," Ana cried, rushing to hold her still-breathing brother in her arms. The chief let her embrace him. "Oh, Timu, why?" she sobbed, rocking him. "Why did you speak against Zoran?"

  His lips moved with effort. "I pushed him," he said wonderingly, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. "And he fell. Zoran is only a man, after all. Tell them... he is... only..."

  He breathed once more, and then he died.

  And the soldiers closed in.

  ?Chapter Nineteen

  Lustbaden stepped past Ana and the body of her brother and stormed into the flimsy thatch hut. Harold Smith was inside, alone and unconcious.

  The doctor kicked him hard in his side. Smith moaned in pain and shock, coming to with a ragged gasp.

  "Where is the other?" he demanded. "The old Chinese?"

  Chiun had been back in the rain forest for some time, but Smith, still groggy, mumbled only, "Don't know what you're talking about."

  Lustbaden kicked him again. Smith bit down on his own hand to keep from screaming. The doctor stepped out of the hut. "Caan!"

  "Yes, Herr Doktor."

  His grandmother's face in the gaslight, rocking, whispering, whispering the words...

  "Go, damn you!"

  Caan took a few hesitant steps toward the airstrip, his head reeling in confusion. The mission. New York. Nana's brisket. The president. The Soviet premier. The starched lac
e tablecloth. The World Trade towers. The F-24. Nana's lips, moving, moving with the German words.

  The two guards who had shot the leper chief took up their positions beside Caan. He stumbled toward the airstrip, choking with tears he could not understand.

  "You remain here," Lustbaden called to the two guards. "The rest of you search the area for the old Chinese dwarf."

  The soldiers hesitated. They were all staring behind Lustbaden. He turned to see Ana standing stock still behind him, her brother's knife poised in her hand.

  She spoke softly, but with a fervor that made even the doctor stop cold in his tracks. "Monster," she said. "Murderer. You killed my brother with no more thought than you would have for swatting a fly."

  "Put down the knife, Ana," the doctor said.

  But she walked nearer, her eyes on Lustbaden's, the knife held ready for attack. "Murdering swine."

  Behind her, the lepers muttered in agreement.

  "Anal"

  "You are afraid to die. I can see it on your face. Zoran, the great, the wise, the magnificent. Zoran is nothing but a-little man gone mad with power. But your power ends here, swine."

  "Swine!" a voice called from the crowd of villagers.

  He glared at the lepers, but Ana was coming still closer at the same steady pace. "Put it down, Ana. I do not wish to kill you."

  She laughed, hard and bitter. "No, I imagine you don't. Who else on this island is there for you to whore with? Only me, the weak one who does all the dirty things you desire so that I can stay alive and out of pain."

  Caan, walking to the airstrip, turned around to listen to the girl. She looked like a sleepwalker, her black hair streaming behind her, her arms outstretched, her knuckles white where they gripped the knife.

  "But I have learned one thing, Zoran," she said. "There are worse punishments than pain. There are some things that are worse even than painful death. I do not fear you now."

  "Nie wieder," Lustbaden shouted. The girl screamed. "Nie wieder!"

  The knife quavered, but did not fall.

  "Nie wieder!" Lustbaden roared.

  "You do not control me," she said slowly, struggling to speak. Her body was trembling. Spittle gathered around her lips. She would not be able to withstand him much longer, she knew.

  "Nie wieder," he said again, teasingly this time, his half-moon smile returning. The girl doubled over in pain.